


A Grim Tale of Brothers, Pumpkins and Giants

by Pokybyte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Albus shares his secrets, Animagus, Being a godfather is going to be hard work, Deathly Hallows, Elder Wand, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Horcrux Hunt, Horcruxes, Horror, Humor, Late for halloween, Light Horror, Magical Creatures, Necromancy, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Powerful Sirius, Regulus is still dead, Transfiguration, Zombies, battle transfiguration, epic magic, grim, magic is badass, powerful dumbledore, pumpkins as a weapon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27401833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokybyte/pseuds/Pokybyte
Summary: Following the events of Prisoner of Azkaban, Dumbledore decides to share his darkest secret about Harry Potter with the only man he knows will do everything for the boy. Kreacher quickly turns what was supposed to be an evening of difficult conversation into far more than he had planned. Meanwhile, a grim discovers its true purpose.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	A Grim Tale of Brothers, Pumpkins and Giants

**Grimmauld Place, Following Prisoner of Azkaban**

“I’m sorry Albus. I’m afraid I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said Sirius with barely contained disgust as he sipped at what Kreacher liked to call tea. At least the elf’s last remaining scrap of honour ensured it was not poison, and firewhisky made it taste a little less like the house-elf was charming his farts onto the rim. “I know that as a Black, everyone expects me to know the vilest dark arts, but you heard about the bust-up I had with my parents when I was sixteen. Yes, my family was into all this kind of stuff, and they were complete nutters, but they were not disgustingly irresponsible enough to teach a teen how to _split their soul to achieve immortality._ I mean, listen to yourself!” he added in an exasperated tone. _“_ Besides, the fact my parents are not around to tell us about it surely proves that there’s some hidden cost You-Know-Who didn’t know about; or believe me, I would have _a lot_ more family visiting for Christmas. In actual fact, this is probably the best news we could have hoped for. He’s probably doomed himself!”

Dumbledore restlessly paced around the little kitchen in Grimmauld Place. For over a decade, he had kept his suspicions of what foulness tainted Harry’s scar to himself. Too afraid to accept it, constantly hoping for it to somehow resolve itself through Lily’s magic, or something to prove him wrong. There were no useful horcrux-revealing spells that he could find, nor diagnostic magic appearing at a wave of his wand that could count the number of souls – or indeed parts of souls – within a living body. There had only been highly educated guesses and suppositions until Harry’s arrival at Hogwarts. First, the wraith, or spirit, the boy said he had seen - and _felt!_ \- pass through him after turning Quirinus into ash, who Albus had indeed been shocked to hear had been possessed rather than just hopelessly weird. There were a number of ways, some that Albus knew of and others he knew he did not, such a possession could have occurred. In any case, it sealed the old wizard’s belief that Tom Riddle was still alive, somehow. Then, second year had included the revelation of Harry being a parselmouth, not an innate ability any Potters had ever had. Lily Evans’ ancestors, at least those that he could find, had never even shown a sign of magic. There were no signs of squib or mixed family lines in her family tree. Even so, Harry’s ability to speak to snakes technically could have manifested spontaneously: after all, nobody save perhaps Riddle himself, as a Gaunt descendant, knew how Herpo the Foul had first come upon his gift either. Or, he could have gained the ability from Voldemort through other means, without a torn piece of soul inside of his head. No, the final nail in the coffin for the headmaster’s hopes had been the maddeningly dangerous events surrounding the thrice cursed diary of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, which now lay mangled and destroyed in a box at the bottom of a lake. Not the Hogwarts one. Fury and self-loathing simmered within Albus, which he redirected into a cold, hard certainty. _Enough secrets._ Some _people_ must _know._ Harry could not rely on luck and the incompetence of others forever. The old wizard turned to Sirius, gathered his Gryffindor courage and started talking.

“I’m afraid things are not quite so simple, my friend. On that most horrible Halloween night all those years ago, I made a discovery that it has pained me to even think about ever since. The events of Harry’s first three years at school however, have left me without a shred of doubt. Sadly, I must tell you that his scar is not just cursed, it contains a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul, presumably one torn off during the murders of James or Lily Potter.”

For Albus, it was like a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. Someone who truly cared for the boy now also had some of the information. It pained him to see Sirius’ crestfallen, speechless, and shocked face but a small, selfish part of him was glad of a burden shared. Suddenly, the former convict began to snarl, getting louder and louder with each breath, until finally some unseen threshold was reached, and the intricately painted porcelain teacup he had been holding in his hand was launched across the room at the wall to explode into tiny pieces not even a _reparo_ would save.

“That BASTARD!” he screamed, tears appearing in his eyes and flowing freely. “That screwtscum-sucking, murdering, vile, red-eyed, evil, son of a hag! To taint a baby with his hate-filled soul! Even just a piece of it! Oh Merlin! Harry!” he wailed, “You poor, poor lad. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve ANY of this!”

As Albus had expected of the still rather fragile Azkaban fugitive, Sirius began to sob uncontrollably. Giving him a few moments, the headmaster sat down at the table, suddenly gripped by a sadness he had not felt in what felt like a century. Unbidden, tears also appeared in his eyes and he made no effort to stop them. He was firmly of the belief that nobody should pass up the chance for a good cry, and Albus had oh-so-much to cry about since the last time he had shed tears: on the 2nd of November 1981, in his office after leaving Harry with the ghastly Dursleys, under the protection of the most powerful blood magic he could cast on top of his mother’s incredible sacrifice. Somehow sensing what his master wanted, Kreacher popped into the room, left a bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers, and disappeared again, muttering something about the need to protect Mistress’ expensive fine china.

Sirius grabbed the bottle and poured a double-measure for each of them. The two wizards sipped in quiet, the younger clearly making an effort to process the information he had received. Once it looked like he had regained some of his balance, Albus began his second confession of the night.

“There is a prophesy I strongly believe pertains to Harry. Indeed, whether I believe it or not seems irrelevant anyway, because Tom Riddle is certain it is true and will try to fulfil it – or at least, the part that he has heard. It was the real reason James and Lily Potter were targeted to begin with.”

And so, he opened up with the full details of the tale of the prophesy. First, the interview with Sybil, Severus overhearing some of it and reporting it to Voldemort. A part of him believed it was a mistake to add this detail when Sirius flew off the handle completely about “Snivellus”, but he knew it was necessary to have everything in the open. There would be no lies, no secrets, and certainly no obliviating tonight. The two former schoolmates’ relationship had never been anything but broken anyway, but he was sure to remind him of this year’s events: in particular, Severus saving Harry from Remus, who had foolishly forgotten to drink his wolfsbane potion. To say _that_ had been a source of immense frustration for someone trying to prove werewolves could be trusted, and deserved equal rights and treatment from the wizarding world was putting it _extremely_ mildly, and with Sirius feeling responsible for his friend’s actions he simmered down.

They went over the prophesy itself, and what it might really mean. There were options. It was time to act on the information they had and find out everything they did not know. At some point, Sirius vanished the bottle and started drinking water, and the headmaster knew Harry had a godfather who not only found him important, and wanted to know and care for him, but who would do everything in his power to protect him. In one fell swoop, _that_ glint he recognised in Sirius’ eye appeared. Not the mad look, nor the mirthful one. The look he gained when he was utterly focused on his task, like that time Albus had watched him practice becoming an Animagus from afar. The non-too-subtle questions he had asked Minerva in her class, the books that disappeared and reappeared from the restricted section of the school library. He knew what a Black could be like when they had a goal, he had seen it enough times. In fact, it was the reason he was opening up now, completely out of ideas. Yet, he was still surprised by Sirius’ next question.

“We need to fix this,” he started. “Harry’s got a piece of Merlin-damned _You-Know-Who_ inside of him. That is unacceptable. Let me help. There must be something in our library. Unless that evil git Regulus took- “

An ear-piercing screech interrupted Sirius, who turned to the suddenly appeared Kreacher in surprise. Before he could react further, the house-elf had him magically pinned against the wall and was shouting at him.

“Master Sirius, who broke my Mistress’ heart with his filthy muggle ways, will not speak ill of Master Regulus,” lectured Kreacher, walking forward slowly and jabbing a finger towards Sirius, “who was so much better than him and always treated Kreacher with respect and kindness! Master Regulus the hero did more to defeat the Dark Lord than the blood traitor Master Sirius! Kreacher helped him with the locket and, and, and, oh no!” the house elf’s face contorted in fear and sadness as it clamped its hands in front of its mouth. “Kreacher has betrayed Master Regulus! Kreacher must be punished! Kreacher told a secret that must not be told to any member of the House of Black! Master Regulus said so!”

Distracted by its mistake and bursting into tears as it walked towards the oven in a daze, the ancient house-elf dropped Sirius. Then, Kreacher opened the oven door, and began bashing his head with it. Instead of the expected metallic clang and pain however, he felt only the softness of a pillow. Looking up in surprise, he saw Dumbledore with a wand in his hand. Then, the old wizard spoke in a soft, commanding voice.

“Kreacher. I am not of the House of Black, so you can tell me. I too have long fought the dark lord known as Voldemort: a half-blood known also as Tom Riddle, who tricked Ancient and Noble pureblood houses such as the Blacks into supporting him.”

Kreacher let the transfigured oven door flop down on the floor, shock and anger visible on his face. “A half-blood? My Mistress, my Masters, they followed a filthy mudblood? Tricked by such a disgusting creature? Oh, the _shame_ the tricky half-blood has wrought upon the House of Black! My Master Regulus was _killed_ by the unclean Dark Lord’s creations in that cave, saving me! I- “

Now it was Sirius’ turn to catch the house-elf by surprise, shaking the little creature by its shoulders. “You know what happened to Reggie? He died? When? Where is he? Take us to him, now!”

Without any time for Albus to belay that order, he felt a small hand on the hem of his robes and the tell-tale sign of side-along apparition. Before he could find his bearings, the temperature had dropped dramatically and he was standing with Sirius and Kreacher on a small, strange island that seemed to be made of massive glowing quartz crystals and ancient stone. They were the only illumination for the chamber. He immediately felt the taint of death and very dark magic in the air. This was more than just a cave.

“Kreacher has brought Master Sirius to Master Regulus’ resting place, filthy, dangerous and terrible though it is. Kreacher will leave and finish cleaning the house now. He will be too busy fixing the teacup to answer Master Sirius’ call.”

With a bow and a barely concealed and disturbing smirk, the house-elf disappeared, leaving the two stunned wizards behind to stare at where he had disappeared from. As Albus cast various charms to provide more light, Sirius felt rage coursing through his veins.

“Kreacher? Kreacher! Come here, your master calls you!” he shouted. With the house-elf showing no sign of returning, he kicked one of crystal blocks and winced in pain. “That evil little git! What in the name of Merlin’s balls is this place? I feel like this is worse than Azkaban somehow, and that’s saying something.”

“I do not know,” said Albus, scanning their surroundings carefully. “But I intend to find out. Please, I would ask you _not_ to touch the water. Something is in there, Kreacher mentioned creations. Do you have your wand?”

Sirius checked his pockets and sighed. “No. It’s still at the hellhole I call home. I am now only useful for three things, in increasing order of usefulness: lifting light loads, transforming into an oversized dog, and seduction. I’ll do my best to follow your fair instructions since I don’t want to die a horrible death, but I would advise you that now is not the time for the last option.”

A wry, distracted grin appeared on the wrinkled wizard’s face at the last remark. Trust Sirius to lighten the mood here. Continuing his investigation, he soon noticed the intricately carved basin at the centre of the island. An unrecognisable phosphorescent, light green potion filled it. There were ways to find out what a potion did, and after some poking and prodding using potioneers’ and alchemists’ revealing spells, Albus had a pretty good idea of what nightmarish reactions one would have if they drank it, but he was reasonably sure he could rule out death or other long-term consequences. What was harder and more complex was the unravelling of the magic surrounding the potion. Clearly, one could not siphon or simply throw it away, as a quick test with a conjured glass proved. The potion simply reappeared in the basin. A brilliantly intricate piece of magic, and the stasis and anti-tampering charms he discovered next were further frustrating proof that Tom Riddle was wasted as a dark wizard.

His thoughts were interrupted by a whooping Sirius, who cast several multicoloured lights around the cave in celebration of something. He was absolutely beaming. “I found Regulus’ wand, Albus!” he exclaimed, before realisation hit him and his face turned sombre. “It was just lying on the rocks near the water. There was no sign of my brother, no remains whatsoever.”

Albus smiled reassuringly at him before speaking. “I am afraid looking for him will have to wait for now. I was just looking at that basin over there. It contains a most fascinating dark potion. I have so far found no solution to the question of getting rid of it, other than drinking it. My instincts tell me that it is not designed to kill; certainly, it contains no lethal poison that I can detect. However, this is Voldemort we are talking about, I do not doubt that it would be highly unpleasant.”

Ever the Gryffindor, Sirius volunteered himself. “Let me, I’ll drink it, that way we can take what we came for and you get us out. It’s the only way.”

The two wizards frowned, both feeling as if they had an itch inside of their head, trying to think of something more to say. Confused but resigned to his fate, Sirius determinedly took the previously conjured glass and was drinking the potion before he knew it. It tasted absolutely foul, like rotten mushrooms and stale soap had been blended with fermented pig’s blood. It was also freezing, sucking all warmth out of him yet also so dry that it seemed to scratch his throat on the way down. He was already sure he would die here, an all too familiar sensation of fear and despair coming over him. This was like concentrated essence of dementor! His mind screamed at him that this was _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He couldn’t hear anything but the thump of his heartbeat in his ears as his vision narrowed, replaced with the harrowing screams of dead and dying muggles killed by Peter all those years ago, a crying baby Harry alone in his crib, the pained shrieks of the McKinnon family burning to death in cursed fire in their own home. There was no hope, no reason to live anymore, his godson would die alone… _Harry_. No! Harry was his responsibility. Harry was a horcrux and needed him. Miraculously, Sirius had latched onto that stray thought like a limpet in his own mind, and twelve years of habit formed in the world’s worst prison took over. The complex feelings brought about by his sadness became easier to repress, and his senses slowly returned. Padfoot knew no fear and had no need for something as trivial as hope. He was a grim, a guardian of death, destroyer of aberrations to the natural order of things, scent hound for the Ruler of the Underworld. This place reeked of unfinished business. _What is dead should stay dead._

“ -irius! You must fight it! Are you here? Come back to me, my boy!”

The grim focused on the aged creature before it. Though this wizard may have been old, the power emanating from him was a clue that barring very special circumstances, Padfoot’s master, Death itself, would wait a long time before bringing him to the lands beyond. Though he was still dazed, he knew this to be a good thing. Shaking himself, finally Sirius’ memories resurfaced, and he was able to retake control of the grim’s body and overpower its instincts. He barked once at Albus, indicating that he was back, and trotted to the basin, rearing up onto his hind legs and ready to lap up the potion, confident that he could now handle the rest of it. However, the old wizard interrupted him once more, shaking his head.

“Though I admire your courage Sirius, I am afraid we have been tricked,” he muttered, sitting down on a large quartz crystal next to the big black dog. He seemed to be waving his wand at him, attempting to check his vital signs and for any indication of more serious poisoning. The grim was very thirsty but otherwise felt fine. “You do not need to drink this potion. There are two reasons for this: firstly, Kreacher claimed that Regulus had succeeded in landing an enormously damaging blow upon Voldemort, so we would just be ruining his sacrifice if we changed anything.”

The grim looked at him attentively, and Albus thought for sure he saw a new pain radiating from its eyes. So, he scratched its head affectionally in the hope of providing some comfort. “And secondly, I suspect there is a strong compulsion in place to make anyone here believe they need to drink the potion to reach… whatever is in there. My instincts tell me Voldemort once covered a horcrux with this filth. I think we both noticed the compulsion. You said you needed to ‘take what we came for’, and a part of me agreed. However, we did not come for what is in this basin, we came for your brother. Neither of us were even able to see what the potion is obscuring. How did you know something was unreachable? I do apologise that I did not react sooner to your confounded actions.”

Conjuring a little bowl, Albus cast _aguamenti_ and filled it up. However, before the grim had the chance to taste the precious liquid it simply vanished, eliciting an uncharacteristically whiney reaction from such a large animal and an impressed chuckle from Dumbledore.

“There we have it, the true trap in this system. How could I be so foolish? Voldemort refrained from putting a lethal poison in the potion not to preserve those who had reached his horcrux and interrogate them later. He wanted them to be tricked into going to the water in their weakened state,” he said excitedly. “We need to find a way out of this place, preferably without encountering whatever is in there. I fear it will not be pleasant should we- “

Padfoot’s vicious growling interrupted his monologue, and not a moment too soon. Lost in his thoughts, firm in the belief that any danger was over until they began their escape attempt, he had let his guard down. The water, until recently so still it had reflected the entirety of the lit cavern like a perfect mirror, was stirring, dark shapes barely visible as they threw up dirt and sand from the bottom and slowly made their way up to the surface. Still unsure what they were facing, Albus sprang into action and set about preparing their little island for a battle with many dark creatures. One of the first rules when facing unknown creatures was not to let them touch you, so he transfigured the rock and crystal in front of them, swiftly moulding it into a solid, dome-shaped cage that grew over their heads with impressive speed and slammed back into the ground on the other side, locking them in. Now gifted with both protection and a good view of the battlefield, he wielded his wand in a wide arc and launched what Sirius recognised as some modified version of a _lumos maxima_ around the chamber, brightening even the darkest crevices above the water. For his part, the Animagus could feel the grim’s anticipation, as it had smelled the _unlife_ that defiled this cave and needed to see it destroyed. While it was true that many mortals misguidedly thought of death as an enemy – Sirius could think of one particular family he had been close to – Death itself, in the sense that it even was an “it”, only had one enemy. Unnatural life, that which was not truly born and did not decay or have even the hint of a soul; aberrations, the true opposite of life. The enemy was in this chamber, and although Padfoot had occasionally seen action, never before had battle felt so profoundly _right_. Hackles raised and teeth bared, he was ready to tear, rip, and crush any that would dare face him. They would not meet their maker or move on to the great beyond, they would simply cease to be. “Sirius, I believe the phrase is ‘watch my back’. Please do so, for I suspect I will be rather busy here and might miss something.”

A horrifying shriek tore through the cave as a head broke the surface of the water. “Ah, inferi then.” Said Albus, almost sounding disappointed. Sirius barked in agreement, the grim inside him far from disappointed as the reanimated corpse creeped out of the water. While the lights were useful and blinded the inferius a bit, it also allowed keen eyes to see _far too much_ of what it looked like. The skin was grey and sodden, the years spent under water causing it to become almost spongey in appearance. It wore no clothes, and the thin long hair as well as highly visible body parts indicated that this had once been a woman. Worst of all was the face: swollen and gaunt at once, black rotten teeth lining the open mouth, and milky-white eyes devoid of any pupils. Sustained by dark magic infused in a stone replacing the heart, the body did not contain her long-departed soul. It knew no rational thought and had only one purpose: to kill anything entering its assigned domain. This was the trouble with necromancy and explained why inferi had never been used to great success in battle. They were useful only in great numbers since they were quite weak, and then only in situations where no ally could possibly encounter them. Too often, they had turned on their overconfident creators who could not control them.

A fist-sized ball of flame tore through the creature’s torso and soon the rest of its body dissolved in a cloud of ash. As if this first shot had angered them, more and more of the inferi began to burst out of the water. Each time they broke the surface, their mouths opened wide to shriek or groan in reaction to the light, sending shivers down Albus’ spine. He began sending out curses in earnest, the mass of inferi quickly reaching and surrounding his makeshift protection, trying to reach through the gaps of the transfigured rock and crystal cage. Some even began ineffectually chewing at the quartz. Several unlucky inferius tried to squeeze their bodies through, only for Padfoot to bite down on their heads and tear them clean off. Again, they immediately turned to ash. Where a grim bite on a human might have the expected look of an enormous dog’s, its teeth were meant for the destruction of _unlife_ and were imbued with powerful magic to that effect. Sirius let the grim’s instincts take over, and as he crunched down on another creature’s brittle forearm, he felt nails rake across his flank and draw blood. Enraged at the sheer _gall_ of this _filth’s_ attempt upon his own true life, Padfoot twirled around and crushed the offending inferius’ shoulder. He had no time to enjoy its pitiful cry of pain, launching himself at the throat of another that had crawled through the bottom of the dome cage and wanted to surprise his fire-wielding ally. This time, he did take a moment to enjoy the end of another aberration.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore and the Elder Wand – another servant of Death itself, singing in delight at this destructive cleansing of filth – danced a terrifying ballet of flames. Twirling the weapon – for it was a weapon and no mere wand - over his head, another great ball of fire appeared and flew through the air outside the cage, twisting around and around, building a raging, infernal tornado that caught scores of inferi in its wake. An observer could be forgiven for assuming this was a specific spell, maybe a minor variant of _fiendfyre_ or an overpowered flame charm. Nothing could have been further from the truth: this was the fighting style of one of the greatest masters of transfiguration who had ever lived; part of the method he had used to defeat Gellert Grindelwald, the most talented duellist and wielder of the dark arts in the last few centuries, who had even been master of the Elder Wand at the time. Albus was manipulating the very elements around him to do his bidding, forcing the air to ignite, water to freeze to slow the approaching masses, and earth to form into spikes that dropped from the cavern ceiling. Countless inferi turned into clouds of ash but their numbers and single-minded relentlessness meant some occasionally slipped through. Had he been alone he might have worried a little, but Sirius-as-Padfoot was nothing if not efficient as his protector, allowing him to concentrate fully on the veritable swarm coming out of the water. Fury raged within him. As if Voldemort’s crimes had not been bad enough, the rules of necromancy dictated that he had had to kill each of these people himself. Luckily, the water had damaged their faces sufficiently for them to be unrecognisable. Perhaps many had only been muggles, but hundreds of witches and wizards had gone missing in the 1970s and it fit what he knew of Riddle’s style. You-Know-Who was not just the term used to avoid the taboo, but a name borne out of the genuine lack of knowledge of who was causing these disappearances. Had he known of a method to preserve these corpses, he might have tried it so that surviving families could finally get some closure.

On and on the filthy task went until suddenly, as quickly as the chaos had started, the cave seemed to have run out of inferi to throw at them and they could only hear echoes of their pained shrieks. A thick cloud of dust and ash hung in the air as a sweating Sirius transformed back into his human form. “Albus, something is still down there,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s big, but Padfoot didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that it was even more of an aberration than inferi, if that’s even possible.”

The aged wizard nodded in thanks, also catching his breath a little, and absent-mindedly widened a hole in the cage into an escape route on the island’s opposite end of where the water roiled under the ice he had forced into being. It never hurt to run if the odds became worse. Obviously, had they been sensible they would have made their escape rather than stayed to fight, but they were both Gryffindors. “How good a match is Regulus’ wand for you, Sirius?”

Twirling said magical focus in his fingers, Sirius looked pensive. “It was angry at me when I first found it, unwilling to let my magic pass through. Now, it seems I’ve avenged its former master sufficiently for it to have adopted me,” he added with a smile that looked a little _too_ bloodthirsty for Albus’ liking.

“Good,” he said simply, eyeing a tear in the younger wizard’s clothes that revealed small bloody scratches over his ribs. Luckily, these were not bad wounds and a quick _episkey_ was an adequate temporary fix. “I have a feeling a second wand will not hurt. It is time for us to undo one of Voldemort’s foulest creations. Do your best to distract whatever this beast is, but if I should fall, no heroics. You have Harry to care for. You alone know the full truth.”

His expression sobering, Sirius nodded solemnly. There was a mighty crash as an enormous closed fist punched through several inches of ice, swiftly followed by a staggeringly large humanoid form that seemed to be standing up. Up and up it rose until it finally stood straight in the cave, though at an estimated 25 feet tall, anything below the waist was still submerged or it would have hit the ceiling. A giant, covered from head to toe in rusty-looking armour and holding a massive club made of dragon bone, announced its presence with a deafening, somehow tainted, roar in challenge. “Merlin’s saggy balls! is that a reanimated giant?”

“I believe so dear boy, though something about it seems off. They are resistant to essentially every form of magic and I do not like the look of this armour. We shall have to wear it down and our only advantage is that it is slow. My priority is to blind it, I would ask you to deal with that club,” he ordered, waving his wand quickly. “I have charmed your shoes not to slip, so feel free to run across the ice. Flank it.”

As if sensing that some plan was being formed, the giant swung its club over its head and smashed the transfigured quartz cage they were inside of to smithereens. While Sirius scrambled to dive away, Dumbledore merely stepped to the side and shielded himself from the debris raining down on them. Faster than he had any right to be for his age, he fired a _conjunctivitis_ curse at the beast before him. He groaned in disappointment as the curse bounced off the creature’s full helmet. “Sirius!” he called to the Animagus who was running across the ice, already waving his wand for the next spell. “You will have to overpower weak points of the armour’s enchantments. _Glacius Maxima!_ ”

Like the inferi before it, the giant inferius’ thick skin was sodden, and the overpowered freezing charm had the desired effect, freezing the creature in place as sharp icy spikes burst out of its spongey pores and formed a thick layer where the water had not quite run off. This enabled Sirius, its chosen target, to move around more effectively and cast several _diffindo_ charms at its wrist in an attempt to remove the entire hand, not just the club. Small cuts did appear on the armour, but it would obviously take too long this way. Meanwhile, Dumbledore was concentrating all his power on forming a ball of magma out of the rocky ceiling above the creature’s head. For the first time, sweat appeared on his brow due to the immense focus this required. Before he could finish, the new type of inferius gave a mighty bellow and flexed all of its muscles, shattering the ice that encased it, uncaring of the gruesome consequences this had on its rotten flesh and skin. Fist-sized cracks appeared in its armour and viscous, tar-like blood began pouring out. Immediately, it swung its club at a shocked Sirius who, though he managed to dodge again, was catapulted through the air by the now broken ice plate. Landing in a heap far away, he felt his grip over Regulus’ wand slacken and watched as it rolled into the water with an irritating _plunk_. 

Seemingly satisfied that it had eliminated him as a threat, the giant inferius ignored Sirius as he transformed back into Padfoot, dove into the water and performed the most ancient of joys for a dog: fetching a stick. Dumbledore watched the creature turn to face him again and chose that moment to slam the magma on top of its head. However, mindless creature that it was, it did not react to the pain and swung the club sideways across the entire island. In any normal situation, the headmaster would have easily dodged the hit by disapparating, but with this method unavailable to him due to Voldemort’s wards he quickly raised a physical barrier to absorb the blow. A loud clang like a bell indicated that the shield had successfully stopped the club, but the mighty wizard stumbled from the drain on his power. The massive creature was already swinging again, and this time another loud gong was followed by the sound of shattering glass as the shield failed. Though the blow was weakened considerably, it still slammed into Dumbledore’s side, knocking the wind out of him as he was thrown off the island onto the ice. Dazed, he groaned as he slowly got to his feet and faced the giant as it slowly broke through the ice to get him. It lifted the club once more, and he knew that this time, the hit would come from above and his shield would not hold.

“ _Melofors_!” bellowed Sirius, running wildly towards the giant from behind and using the first spell he could think of. An enormous orange pumpkin covered the giant’s entire head and immediately caught fire due to the remaining molten rock burning through helmet and thick leathery skin. An accurately cast _bombarda maxima_ caused the giant’s swing to be interrupted as the plate armour on its back, weakened and glowing white hot, exploded, giving Dumbledore precious time to stumble away and swiftly heal his cracked ribs with a winced incantation. Sirius on the other hand was not done. “ _Deletrius crus draconis_!” he shouted, the pink curse hitting true. It tore through the dragonbone club, which he had correctly deduced had been made from a femur, reducing it to dust. Dull roars could be heard from inside the pumpkin, the giant inferius’ hands flailing wildly and finally ripping it off.

Dumbledore gasped in horror as he saw that the head had cooked inside, football-sized eyes melting out of their sockets and lips burning away, revealing a row of horrifyingly rotten teeth and gums. Sirius cast _colloshoo_ from behind, sticking the monster’s boots to the ground, while the older wizard began to transfigure surrounding rocks into sharp spears three feet in length. The shielding of the giant’s blows, and its subsequent failure, had almost completely exhausted his magic and he was swaying on his feet. Meanwhile, the stuck giant inferius was swinging fists in every direction, but with a lurch it was suddenly free and moving towards him. It had broken the rock off the floor the boots had been stuck to, soon ending the charm Sirius had used. Out of time, Dumbledore launched the five spears he had completed in quick succession and collapsed out of exhaustion, ready to die. One spear, that had clearly been transfigured too sloppily and was not sharp enough, bounced off the leftover armour on the front, but three pierced it and embedded themselves in the creature’s torso. The last one however entered through the mouth, and punched out through the back of its head in a shower of viscous ichor after shattering its way through a tooth.

Sirius, also tiring, watched in satisfaction at the result. However, his delight soon turned to horror as the giant inferius pulled the transfigured spear out of its mouth and got ready to impale the defenceless Dumbledore. Whether its lack of eyes would hinder a successful kill was not something Sirius wanted to find out, and further casting of _bombarda, confringo_ and _defodio_ seemed to do nothing but blow out chunks of flesh, not distracting it. Out of nowhere, he was reminded of an episode Harry had written him about when describing the first duelling lesson with Professor Lockhart. Summoning as much power as he could, he waved his wand. “ _Alarte ascendare_! Fly, you turd!”

And indeed, the giant inferius, now no longer protected by armour and its magical resistance weakened by the constant burning of molten rock across its body, was launched the short distance to the ceiling, straight into the stalactites hanging there with a sickening _crunch_. Sirius saw the neck bend at an unnatural angle, but a voice inside of him knew he was not finished as it landed face down in the water. Reacting to a new instinct, he transformed into Padfoot, who had demanded the right to end the aberration, and jumped on its back. Inserting his head into the neck through the hole caused by the spear, he clamped his jaws around the exposed nerves of the spine. The giant stirred but the holes in its body impeded it from moving effectively. The grim’s cleansing magic gifted by death battled something _new_ and _dark_ , something _different_ , that had been animating the creature. Immediately, darkness encroached on his vision as the giant inferius tried to absorb his life force to heal itself and continue its unlife. Padfoot was having none of it. _Unacceptable._ With a final mental push and tightening of his jaws, he finally overcame the necromantic ritual – after all, death itself would always win against the undead eventually – and the limbs slackened. Soon, the giant’s body dissolved into ash just like the other inferi.

Moving away and transforming back, Sirius made his way to Dumbledore, the injured headmaster leaning against a rock on the floor. “Albus!” he called. “Where are you hurt? Quickly!”

“Don’t worry yourself my boy,” he answered, “I am just a tired old man but I will easily recover. Without you, I daresay I would be in much worse shape.”

 **YOU HAVE RELEASED ME FROM MY PRISON** boomed a voice, redirecting their attention by surprise. The ghostly form of a giant, now rid of decay and without the wounds they had inflicted, appeared to rise out of the water. **FOR THIS AND FOR ENDING MY PAIN YOU HAVE MY THANKS, BRAVE WIZARDS**.

“Did you remain with your corpse? Who are you?” asked Sirius, confused. Surely a ghost would not stay with its reanimated corpse. He had certainly never heard of such a thing.

  1. **THE DARK LORD SLEW ME WITH MAGIC. THEN HE USED A STONE TO SUMMON ME FROM THE GIANT FIELDS BEYOND, AND IMPRISONED ME WITHIN MY CORPSE AND BOUND ME TO HIS WILL. MY NAME IS GUGAGOTH, GURG OF THE GIANTS IN THE WESTERN SWAMPLANDS.**



Initially merely curious to find out what had happened to the leader of the giants in Wales, Dumbledore now immediately perked up. Could it be? “A stone you say? Are you certain?”

**YES. WHEN THE DARK LORD CAME TO US AND DEMANDED AN ALLIANCE, I REFUSED HIM. SO, HE SLEW ME AND KEPT MY CORPSE. A GREAT SHAME ON MY CLAN FOR ALLOWING THIS TO HAPPEN. I LEAVE NOW. MY SOUL BURNS WHEN IT IS AWAY FROM THE GIANT FIELDS BEYOND.**

Urgency tinged the headmaster’s voice. “You must tell me about this stone! Please! Do not leave us I implore you. I must know more about it! Where is it?”

Sirius eyed the old man carefully, never having seen or heard such hunger from him. “Albus, let him go,” he said gently. “You heard what he said. If he was summoned from the Giant Fields Beyond, and this must have happened before Regulus came here, his soul is in great pain. We have to let him move on.”

The ghost inclined its head in thanks to Sirius but spoke anyway. **FOR RELEASING ME, I WILL TELL YOU THIS. I KNOW NOT WHERE EXACTLY IT IS, BUT THE STONE WAS ON A POISONED RING TAINTED IN THE SAME WAY AS THE LOCKET THAT WAS STOLEN FROM HERE BY THE WIZARD AND THE TINY ELF. THE ELF WAS ORDERED TO ESCAPE, AND THE WIZARD WAS TAKEN TO THE DEPTHS OF THE LAKE BY THE ABOMINATIONS.**

“They didn’t eat him?” demanded Sirius, longing in his voice. “My brother is still whole?”

 **THE ABOMINATIONS DO NOT EAT. I -** it seemed to wince in pain. **I AM BEING CALLED TO THE GIANT FIELDS BEYOND AND CANNOT STAY. BRING MY BROKEN HELM TO THE FEW REMAINING GIANTS IN THE WORLD, TELL THEM WHAT HAPPENED TO ME AND THEY WILL NEVER SUPPORT THE DARK LORD SHOULD HE RETURN.** **FAREWELL, ONCE MORE, I THANK AND CONGRATULATE YOU BOTH. DEATH’S BLESSINGS HAVE MADE YOU FORMIDABLE WARRIORS.**

Gugagoth’s form faded from view in front of the two astounded wizards with a wave of its enormous hand. Stunned into silence, Sirius thought about what the giant had said. He had been very foolish indeed to try and drink that fluorescent potion, _confundus_ or not, because they had known his brother had achieved _something_ here. Kreacher had only obeyed Regulus’ orders when leaving him behind (though why his brother had not ordered the elf to get both of them out of the cave, he would have to ask the traitorous little git later). There was also a new feeling, a presence within him. Padfoot’s righteous joy at returning a soul stolen from its master, Death, filled him with a bloodlust he could not quite describe. He wanted to find _more_ wayward souls, when earlier today he had not been aware such a thing was even possible. Certainly, the grim’s thoughts had never been quite so present in his mind, able to affect his emotions and goals beyond protecting his sanity in Azkaban, or defending Prongs or, most unfortunately he now reflected… _Wormtail_ … when Moony got a bit too feisty. “Albus.” He said, realising something.

“Yes?”

“What did he mean when he said death’s blessings had made us _both_ formidable wizards? My _animagus_ form is a grim, so that’s easy. What’s yours?” continued Sirius. He had a sudden realisation that he had no idea what Albus’ Animagus form even was. The notion that he would _not_ have one at all was completely ridiculous, not least because he was a master of transfiguration. He wondered whether Minerva even knew.

“I do not know, Sirius. Let me think upon it.” Dumbledore’s brain had not been given such a hard workout in a while, and not for the first time he cursed the slight slow-down caused by his ageing. The sheer volume of information he had received today was simply staggering. Firstly, he finally knew what had happened to the long-time gurg of the Welsh giants and understood why they had worked for Voldemort during the war. He had presumed they had been promised great wealth and tracts of land if they killed muggles and destroyed their towns. Now he knew the truth: they had been terrified. Their gurg had been not only killed, but stolen, and they had been too ashamed to tell Hagrid. So many lives had been lost in the ensuing capture of all free-roaming giants in Europe, so uselessly, it hurt his heart. Secondly, he now knew that Regulus Black had turned against his master and stolen the Horcrux, somehow getting past Voldemort’s protections, only to end up drowned by the inferi. Most disturbing of all however, was the information regarding the Resurrection Stone. He had long suspected it to be real – the Elder Wand and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak were indicators of that – but now he had evidence. Cold, hard, terrifying evidence that the stone was not all it seemed. Not only could it be used to summon and bind souls to combine necromantic rituals, which was awful in and of itself, but it turned out merely calling a lost relative or friend caused them to suffer. Pain after death, something nobody would ever have thought possible, was real. In one fell swoop, almost 90 years of longing and desire for the Resurrection Stone, in order to talk to his Ariana one last time, had vanished. He could not do this to her, after so many years, especially when it was to apologise and assuage his own guilt. It was hard to believe, but Voldemort had managed to disgust him even more than usual today; he had not thought it possible for his opinion of the former darling of Headmaster Dippet to fall even lower. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he looked at Sirius and a wry smile appeared on his face. The need to unite the Hallows was gone, so this did not need to stay as secret as it once had. Albus decided it was time to make a confession. “This is the Elder Wand.” He said, twirling it in his fingers.

For what felt like the 100th time that day, Sirius felt speechless at the revelation. He tried to think of something intelligent, insightful, or at least interesting to say but there was nothing. Suddenly, the shakes started and though he tried to stop it by holding a hand in front of his mouth, he roared with laughter. It was almost manic, the pent-up emotions collected over the last few weeks and especially today were just being released. Soon, Dumbledore joined him, not quite sure why it was so contagious but, as with the crying earlier, knowing when not to block releases.

“Come on, dear boy,” said the older wizard, finally calming after a few minutes. “Time to get what we _really_ came for.”

+*#

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed this weird little one-shot I couldn’t get out of my head after imagining a giant with a pumpkin stuck on its head. Shame I missed Halloween! Be safe out there.


End file.
